Ghosts, Lunch, and Everything In Between
by MasterMind13
Summary: Delia invites Aiden for lunch to discuss their lives, Aiden's future, reflect on past exploits, and what might come for all of them.


**My first official fanfic for 2020. And this is a new one. I had a dream Friday night, where I saw a teenaged Aiden having lunch with a much older Delia. I don't remember much, but I used that part of my dream and made a story out of it. **

**I haven't watched _Ghost Whisperer_ in years, I don't remember much of it; even though I'm a diehard fan. I kind of wanted to write a fanfiction for this show. And I think I did alright. **

**Well, sit back, relax, and enjoy this masterpiece. ^_^ **

* * *

Delia Banks checked her watch as the waiter approached her table. He handed her a menu.

"Thank you," she said, "could you give me a few minutes? I'm actually waiting for someone."

"Sure," said the waiter.

As soon as he left, Delia set the menu down and looked out the window, pensive. Delia had gotten some gray roots, though she was in need of a dye job. Her skin resembled worn-out leather, although she was still good-looking for her age. And after that, she had just received the title of grandmother last spring.

Just then the restaurant door opened, the bell ringing. Delia looked up and saw Aiden Lucas. Melinda's son. He spotted Delia, he went over to her table. Sitting across from her, Delia took in all of Aiden's presence. He had grown tall, towering over his father. And here today, dressed in a dark maroon shirt under a black utility jacket, black jeans and canvas sneakers. Aiden was ready to go off to college this fall. How the time flies.

"Hi, Delia," said Aiden. "How are you?"

"I'm fine," replied Delia.

"How's Ned?"

"He's fine."

"And how's...Myra? And Lacey?"

"They're fine."

"Lacey...she's got to be a year old, right?"

"Right."

The waiter returned with another menu, having seen Aiden approach Delia's table.

"Could you give us a few more minutes?," asked Delia. The waiter, smiled understandingly, and traipsed away. When he was gone, Delia started the conversation again. "So, how's school for you?"

"Great," responded Aiden. "I'm top of my art class."

"I've heard," said Delia. "I saw one of your paintings at the art show last week."

"Yeah." Aiden grinned. "What did you think of it?"

"I thought it was great." Delia gathered her thoughts. "You know, the way the shadows blended in with the trees was incredible."

"That was the hard part." Aiden pointed. "That, and using the right paintbrush stroke to paint it just right." He squinted his eye and made a painting motion with his hand. "I thought I'd have to use a microscope to paint the really small parts. I don't know how the great artists did it. They make it look so easy."

"Well, they had practice," said Delia appreciatively. "Just like you need practice if you want to make it as an artist."

"I know." Aiden nodded.

The waiter returned with his notepad, ready to take their orders. Neither Delia nor Aiden had a chance to look at their menus.

"I'll have the spinach basil pasta salad," said Delia to the waiter. "And an iced tea."

"And I'll have a club sandwich with a side of fries and...a Pepsi." Aiden handed the waiter the menu, who also took Delia's.

"Okay," said the waiter, "your food will be here in just a sec. I'll go get you your drinks."

The second he left, the second Delia started up the conversation.

"But you know what I want to study?," said Aiden before Delia could even speak.

"What?"

"Graphic art." Aiden was sounding sure of himself. "I know most comic books and graphic novels are made on computers, so I figured, drawing them on a tablet will be a cinch."

"It may seem that way, but it's a lot of hard work," reminded Delia.

"I know." Aiden couldn't help but be playful.

The waiter retuned with their drinks and informed them that he would bring them their food in just a moment.

"So, Aiden," said Delia after a sip of her iced tea, "how's the...the...?" She found it hard to use a euphemism for ghosts. But to her relief Aiden understood what she was referring to, and didn't seem upset or annoyed.

"I can control it better nowadays," he replied. "And you know what the most surprising thing is? I haven't gotten sick on my birthday in years."

Delia was rapt to listen.

"The last time it happened was on my tenth birthday," explained Aiden. "And every year since then, I've been expecting to get a fever or hypothermia or something." He looked down at the table. "I just...I just don't know why." He drank a sip of his Pepsi.

Delia mulled over his story before coming up with an answer. She remembered him getting sick on his birthdays, and to hear of him not getting sick was almost alien to her. She and Melinda knew it had something to do with his birth, and that ghost that thought her dead son went into Aiden. But why was Aiden not getting sick all of a sudden? She could not place it.

"Well, honey," she began, "maybe it's because...you're getting to be stronger in using your gift." She briefly glimpsed away before facing Aiden again. "This never happened with your mother, or your grandmother," she bit her lip, "but, I don't know how to explain it."

"Right." Aiden took another sip of Pepsi. "But I like what you're getting at. Maybe I _am_ getting stronger." He glance past Delia and saw the waiter arrive with their food.

"Here you go," he said, setting a pasta bowl in front of Delia. "Spinach basil pasta salad for you." He looked over at Aiden. "Club sandwich with fries for you."

"Thank you," quipped Aiden.

"You're welcome. Enjoy your lunch." He walked away, still looking perky.

"That looks good," commented Delia, taking a forkful of pasta.

"Thanks, but yours looks delicious." He eyed her pasta with friendly envy. "I'll order that next time." He took a sandwich and took a bite.

"Here." Delia took a forkful of spinach pasta and placed it on Aiden's plate. "Save you the trouble."

"Ooh, don't mind if I do." Aiden took the pasta with his fingers and popped it into his mouth. "Mmm. This is really good."

"Ain't it?" Delia chuckled.

Ten minutes into their meal, Aiden brought up something he'd been rehearsing in his head. He thought now was the right time to bring it up.

"Delia?"

"Yes?"

Aiden put down his half-finished sandwich, eyes on the second one. "What do you think I should do?" Then more specifically, he added, "Now that I'm going to college this fall, I mean..." Trailing off, he wracked his brains for the right response. "I know there aren't a lot of colleges that offer ghost communication as a course."

"There's the occult," offered Delia.

"Yeah, but," began Aiden skeptically, "that...that doesn't really pull me in." He looked out the window. "I want something more. Something that's _me_."

"Well, you're remarkably talented at art," said Delia after swigging her iced tea. "You already said so yourself, you can be a graphic artist while also helping people with their ghost problems."

"I know," quoth Aiden, "but I know there'll be people who don't believe that stuff, and I have to be ready for when they label me a freak."

"That's right."

"How did Mom put up with all of this?" He may have been asking rhetorically, but he was actually looking for an answer.

"Well," said Delia, "your mom wasn't always believed either." She paused to take a bite of her spinach pasta. "You know, _I_ didn't believe her either when she first told me she saw ghosts."

"Really?" Aiden arched a brow. He nibbled on a french fry as he readied himself to listen.

"Yeah." Delia sipped her iced tea. "I didn't believe her. I thought she was making up stories. I called her crazy and said how that she belonged in a mental hospital." Reflecting on that day, Delia didn't feel as guilty as she did then, but it still hit a soft spot. Focusing on the now, Delia continued. "But when she explained it to me more carefully, and after I had calmed down, I grew to believe her and appreciate her gift." She smiled brightly. "Just like people will appreciate you and your gift."

"Including the empath thing?," asked Aiden hopefully.

"Even that."

Aiden munched on his second sandwich. "I'm still not sure," he said between bites. Wiping his mouth with a napkin, Aiden contemplated the possibly scenarios while glimpsing quickly out the window. "There's so much out there I want to know," he quoth, "so much that you can discover not just in books or in your hometown." In a semi serious tone he said, "I still want the whole graphic artist plan."

"And that's all right, honey," reassured Delia, she placed a hand on his forearm. "You can do that, and travel anywhere and find more people to help. Or better yet—find people like you."

"I feel like I'm the only person who's like me," retorted Aiden. "But I would like to meet other people who can see ghosts, or are empaths." He took a bite of his french fry. "Eli's fun to hang with. For a guy who can only hear ghosts, he knows a lot about what I can do."

"That's Eli for you," commented Delia.

"And Ned." Aiden added. There was a hint of nostalgia sweeping over him, and his expression softened as he thought back to his days when he was in elementary school when Ned would come over to his house and play with him. Sometimes he would even watch him. Take him to the park, to the movies, or even to the arcade. Ned was a cool older brother to him, and now Aiden was missing him more than when he moved away four years ago.

"I know you miss him, dear," crooned Delia, "I do, too." She paused. "I wanted Ned to stay closer to home, but I knew part of him wanted to get on out there, see the world. I'll never forget the wedding."

"Neither will I." Aiden remembered the day: Ned made him his best man, and his cousin was the ring bearer.

"But, you know," said Delia suddenly, "I knew I couldn't stop Ned from what he loved. He had to follow his dreams; and I had to let him go."

Aiden seemed convinced, but he was still holding on to that one shred of nostalgic innocence.

"Grandma never liked seeing ghosts, did she?," he asked.

"I only know what your mom told me," replied Delia. "But yes, she didn't like it. It made her feel like she was crazy."

"What if I'm like Grandma?" Aiden sounded desperate this time. "What if I don't want to help ghosts with their problems?"

"There's nothing that says you have to forcefully do any of that," said Delia. "There's nothing written in stone that says you have to help that exact ghost with their regrets. And it's all right if you don't want to help anyone or any ghost. It's_ your _choice, Aiden; and only _you_ can make that choice."

Feeling his stomach twist into knots, Aiden felt inferior to what Delia was saying to him. He felt like he didn't deserve any of the things she was saying, and yet, he wanted so badly to figure out who he was and what he was suppose to be. Aiden's heard this a bunch of times before; in movies, TV shows, comics. People would say to look deep inside himself and see what he had. He had a mother and father. He had Delia, who was close to a grandmother to him. He had Ned, a big brother figure. He had Myra, Ned's wife. When they get to visit he and Lacey would be the best of friends. Like siblings, almost. Aiden couldn't wait until all those things happened. And maybe when he started a family of his own. But did he want that though? He wasn't sure. For now, it was time to focus on the now. His plan to study graphic art.

"You know, Delia," he said as he took a swig of Pepsi.

"What, honey?," quipped Delia.

"I think, that no matter what I do, I won't let the ghost thing slow me down."

"That's always a good thing."

"But I also don't want to be torn between two things." Aiden rested his cheek on his palm. "I've never told this to my friends, mostly because I don't want them to think I'm crazy." He realized how hypocritical that sounded. "Well, I don't want to be labeled a freak like Mom was or to think I'm crazy like Grandma said she was." Then a thought popped up. "What do you know about my great-grandma?"

"I don't know much, honey," retorted Delia. "All I know is that your mom was close to your great-grandma. That she was the one who helped your mom appreciate her gift and why she had the gift."

"I bet Grandma never approved of it," snapped Aiden.

"She never did." Delia ate a mouthful of pasta before continuing her spiel. "But I _am_ right about this, Aiden." She drank some of her iced tea. "It's your life; you live it how you want it. And if that means you want to live it like your mom's: helping people while working at a real job. Or just living your life by not helping any ghost, that's all right, too." She put her hand on Aiden's hand, like the way mothers do. "It's your choice. No one else's."

Worry nagging at him, Aiden eyed the remainder of his lunch, feeling his appetite waning.

"I wish I'd met my great-grandma," said Aiden.

"I know, honey."

The two spent the remainder of their lunch in silence. Aiden found he couldn't think up another topic to talk about. Delia noted him gazing around at the restaurant. The boy drank what was left of his soda, and took a moment before speaking.

"You're probably wondering why I'm staring around?," he queried, as if he couldn't feel her glances on him.

Delia chuckled. "Yes, actually."

"Well there are a few ghosts milling about," replied Aiden, "two of them are two former waiters: a man and a woman." He looked past Delia. "One was a chef. And the other was...I don't even know what happened to him."

"What does he look like?"

"He looked like he got burned on the grill." Aiden craned his neck. "I wonder if he got into a fight with one of the cooks."

"Maybe he did."

Aiden shrugged. "Our waiter's not a ghost, by the way," he said, catching a glance of her bewildered look. "He can't be a ghost if _you_ can see him."

"You're right about that," said Delia.

"He's just really savvy like that." Aiden chuckled. "Really wants to get that promotion to manager."

Delia giggled.

"Well," began Aiden, "thanks for lunch, Delia." He took one last bit of his sandwich. "I'll tell Mom you said hi."

"Thanks, honey."

"And Delia."

"Yeah?"

"If Ned ever calls, tell him I miss him."

"I promise."

* * *

**I kind of wanted to see Delia's relationship with Aiden. And the headcanon I have picked out for Aiden seems to go right up his tree. And I liked the dynamic between him and Ned. If you think about, they really _are_ like brothers. **

**And if you're wondering about one small detail, I totally disregard the whole "Aiden wants a little brother" approach from the episode "On Thin Ice." I just think Mel, Jim and Aiden are fine the way they are.**

**Oh and, the cover I used... There were so many pictures to choose from, and this one was not too classy, but not too formal either. Well, hey, it's not like I can find one with a ghost hovering over the table. **


End file.
